


Independently Blue / The Right Man

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, First Time, release the phracken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne and Jack are having trouble getting the Phrack started after she returns from London.Originally published for the 2015 Phryne ficathon. Each chapter had a different prompt; they're listed at the top of the text.





	1. Jack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/gifts).



**__** _“Love Me or Leave Me” – Billie Holiday ( full lyrics)_

Phryne’s parlor was quiet, the only sound that of music on the wireless wafting in from the dining room. Jack sat on the chaise, sipping at his whiskey and watching Phryne. Since she’d returned from England, she’d been different around him. Nervous, almost. He’d hoped that she would spend the time away thinking of the kiss they’d shared at the airfield (god knew, he had) and convince herself that being with him would be so much more satisfying than the other men she dallied with. But there had been no sign from her when she returned that she wanted to take up where they’d left off, and he thought maybe she was nervous about telling him she wasn’t interested in him anymore, so he hadn’t pushed the issue. They’d fallen back into their routine, working cases together and spending the evenings discussing them over drinks. If he was honest with himself, it was starting to hurt.

If he was honest, it had been hurting for months.

While she was gone, he could tell himself that he hadn’t heard from her because telegrams were expensive and letters were slow. Once she’d returned, he’d waited what seemed like forever for some sign that she truly wanted him to “come after her”—that it hadn’t been just an impulsive statement that she’d regretted once she was in the air.

Now, he looked at her and his heart ached. She sat curled into one of her small chairs, whiskey held between both hands, staring down into it as if it held all of the universe’s answers. She was so beautiful, her hair a dark slash against her porcelain cheekbone, her red lips a perfect contrast to her blue, blue eyes. She wore a warm-looking jumper in shades of red deepening to black over her black trousers, and she’d tucked the heels of her bare feet up on the edge of the seat. He wished she wasn’t all the way across the room.

As they sat there in what should have felt like a comfortable silence, Jack became aware of the words to the song on the wireless as they wafted in across the hall.

_This suspense is killin' me_  
_I can't stand uncertainty_  
_Tell me now I've got to know_  
_Whether you want me to stay or go_

He looked down at his drink, listening. The woman singing had a soulful tone, and the harmonies of the song were sad. “Love me or leave me,” she sang, and Jack felt a lump rise in his throat. He closed his eyes as the last verse played.

_There'll be no one_  
_Unless that someone is you_  
_I intend to be independently blue_  
_I want your love_  
_But I don't want to borrow_  
_To have it today to give back tomorrow_  
_For your love is my love_  
_There's no love for nobody else_

With a small, rather bitter laugh, he decided it was time to take the bull by the horns. He tossed the last of his whiskey back and leaned forward to set his glass on the table with a sharp click. Phryne looked up, surprised, and he met her eyes.

“I can’t take this anymore, Phryne,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve tried to give you space, to let you set the pace of this—” he gestured with a wave of his hand between himself and her “—whatever this is, but I can’t do it any longer.” He swallowed.

“Jack?” She slid her legs down to the floor, leaning toward him, her face confused.

“I need to know, Phryne.”

“Need to know what, Jack?”

“Are we friends? Or more than that? Do you _want_ to be more than that? With me?” He shook his head, his eyes agonized. “Because if you don’t, I can find a way to live with it, but I’ll need some space first. I can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. Because everything has changed, at least for me.”

“Jack—” Phryne stood, setting her glass down beside his, and crossed to the chaise to sit beside him. She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching his. “Dear Jack,” she breathed, and she kissed him.

Her mouth was warm on his, and Jack felt his eyes flutter closed as he took in the taste of her mouth. The whiskey on her tongue, the vanilla in her lipstick, and the something more that was _Phryne_ crashed over him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She pressed into him, one hand sliding into his hair, the other wrapping around his shoulder to hold him tightly. His mouth never leaving hers, Jack pulled her to sit on his lap. Phryne moved with him, her arm on his shoulder relaxing only to stroke around his neck to loosen his tie and the top button of his shirt so that she could slide her hand against the warm flesh of his neck.

Jack could hear himself murmuring her name as he adjusted the angle of their kiss, and he would have sworn he heard something like “my Jack” come out of Phryne’s mouth. The knot in his chest built of the worry that he’d imagined the connection between them loosened, and a warmth spread through him. He luxuriated in her mouth, in the feeling of her tongue against his, her body arching into him. He stroked her back, his fingers slipping under the bottom edge of her jumper and chemise to lie against the skin of her side. She was touching him too, her tongue slipping out to trace the shape of his upper lip, her hand at his throat stroking down into his open shirt collar to cup the roundness of his shoulder.

When they finally broke apart, neither went very far, pressing their cheeks together as they panted for breath. When Jack could think again, he whispered her name into her ear, turning to press a kiss to her temple.

“God, Phryne, I thought you didn’t want me,” his whisper was rough, and his arms held her tightly against him.

“Jack,” she said in a whisper of her own, “I thought you’d decided that I was too much trouble.”

“You’re just the kind of trouble I like,” his mouth curved against her skin. “When you didn’t ravish me at the first opportunity after you got home, I started to wonder if you’d changed your mind. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you rebuffing me.”

“When you didn’t sweep me into your arms at the airfield, I thought _you’d_ changed _your_ mind. And I didn’t want to hold you to something that you no longer wanted.”

“I will always want you, Phryne,” he growled. He could not imagine a time when that would not be true. She was the first thought in his head when he woke and the last when he went to sleep.

“I had a lot of time to think in that plane, Jack,” Phryne said, burying her nose in his neck. He could feel the deep breath she took, and he hoped that his scent was as pleasing to her as hers was to him. He circled his fingers against the skin at her waist and hummed a questioning sort of sound, hoping that she’d continue.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of your kiss, and even when I had the option at the end of the day to, well, scratch my itch, I found that no one else compared. It was your kiss that I wanted.” She stroked his neck with her fingers, and Jack tilted his head a bit to give her better access. He didn’t love the idea that she’d “scratched her itch” with other men while she was away, but he thought that he could live with it, seeing that she had come home to him.

“Do you… will you want…” he sighed. “I don’t want to cage you, Phryne. I don’t want to change you, but I’m not sure that I can be anything other than the only man you’re seeing.” He closed his eyes, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Is that… are you…”

“Am I willing to have you be my only lover, Jack?” Phryne lifted her head, and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze when she moved her hand up to cup his cheek again. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I won’t deny that I took men to my bed on that trip to England, and that I’ve done so since I came home.” The skin around Jack’s eyes tightened a little. He’d known, of course. It was part of why he’d been unsure of making any more romantic overtures.

“But Jack, why would I want any of those men if I could have you?” Her thumb stroked the skin at the corner of his eye where wetness had gathered. “I’m not the type to go into a decline if my affections are not returned; I have too many responsibilities. But if you were to become my lover, I would need only you.”

Jack’s smile was crooked and filled with joy. He raised one hand to her face, mimicking the placement of hers. He stroked her cheekbone with the tips of his fingers.

“If I’m forced to make a choice between your happiness and my own, Phryne, I will always choose yours.” He tilted his head into her hand, his eyes warm. “But I am profoundly grateful that your choice and mine align so closely in this matter.”

He brought his mouth to hers tenderly, repeatedly, his lips resting softly against hers, his fingers stroking the skin of her face and at her waist. Phryne smiled against his lips, her eyes fluttering closed. After a few minutes, Jack felt her fingers slide from his cheek down his neck to his chest, and then a breeze as she loosened the buttons of first his waistcoat, then his shirt. He pulled away from her mouth to look down at himself. He was unbuttoned all the way to his waistband, and Phryne had her hand inside his shirt, resting atop his singlet over his heart. He attempted to control his smile, only succeeding in giving her a smirk instead.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?” He narrowed his eyes a little, trying to summon his official voice.

“Well, we did agree that you would be my only lover, didn’t we, Jack?” Phryne’s tone was reasonable. “I think that comes with certain… responsibilities, don’t you?”

“And what would those be?” Jack thought he knew, and he realized that his fingers under the edge of her jumper had become his hand, and it was resting on her ribcage, his thumb brushing the underside of her silk-covered breast.

“Oh, nothing you’ll find too difficult, I imagine, darling,” she said, sliding her hand down his belly to cup him through his trousers. Her voice dropped to a purr as she continued, the motion of her hand making Jack’s breathing uneven. “Though it does seem like it’ll be hard, doesn’t it?” She kissed him softly again before sliding off his lap, capturing his hand as it pulled out of her jumper and tugging softly.

Jack stood, knowing he was completely disheveled, his shirt and waistcoat open, his trousers tenting over his erection. He rather thought he was probably wearing more of Phryne’s lipstick than she was at the moment. But he ceased caring when she pulled him close, lacing her fingers through his and wrapping her other hand around his tie to tug him down to her kiss. Her open mouth met his urgently, and she pressed her body tightly against his. He caught her waist, his hand sliding downward to spread over her buttock, and she whimpered. Jack had thought he might be nervous if they ever got to this point, but he wasn’t. Instead, he felt his confidence growing with every pleased sound that she made.

“Take me to bed, Jack,” Phryne’s voice was breathless, her hand clenching in his. Without a word, Jack led her out the door of the parlor and up the stairs.


	2. Phryne

**__**_“A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,_  
_[Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking.]”_  
_Walt Whitman, “A Woman Waits for Me”_

__ _(Note: Only the first line of this poem was the prompt, but the second line seemed... important. )_

Phryne let her eyes wander over Jack’s back as he led her out of the parlor, heading toward her boudoir. His back was straight, his shoulders wide. She wished that he had taken off his jacket downstairs so that she could watch the muscles in his buttocks moving as he climbed. Jack’s backside was rather a work of art, probably because of the cycling he did. Phryne licked her lips. She looked forward to investigating Jack’s body—it was almost as engaging as his mind.

She had wanted him from the beginning, of course. Phryne was not a woman to deny her own desires, and Jack Robinson, even fully clothed, was delicious. But although they had flirted and bantered, their relationship had been platonic for the longest time. And by the time he was free, she cared enough for him as a friend to keep herself from seducing him. Mostly.

His romantic overtures before she flew to England had been exciting and invigorating, and she’d spent a lot of time thinking them through. She’d had encounters with multiple men between Melbourne and London, on both directions of the trip, but she had realized that though all of them had given her body release (well, almost all—there was that Italian man whose prowess was… less than stellar), not one of them had captured her mind. She’d forgotten most of their names, if she ever knew them. It was a little terrifying for Phryne to realize that because none of them were Jack, they didn’t matter past the night’s pleasure.

She’d come back to Melbourne ready to see where her relationship with Jack could go, and then it had gone nowhere. He had been aloof and friendly, but he hadn’t taken any action that she’d been able to call either romantic or an overture. It was as if they’d regressed back to the first days of their acquaintance again, dancing around each other. She’d decided that while she was away, he’d had a think and had determined that something about her had been too much to bear. She knew that the politics of police work were such that her modern sensibilities would be difficult for Jack in the workplace. If that was the problem, she hadn’t wanted to push the matter. But it had hurt. Jack had never judged her, never asked her to be someone she was not, and the idea that he no longer wanted her was surprisingly painful.

Now, she marveled at how blind they both had been. Each waiting for the other to make the first move, each afraid that they would not be enough. Thank all that was holy that Jack had finally said something. She was quite certain that she would not have raised the courage on her own. Not that she’d ever admit to that.

Her hand stroked up the back of Jack’s thigh, sliding under the tail of his jacket to cup his buttock through his trousers. He paused to look back at her, tilting his head in that half-admonishing, half-teasing way he had. She gave him an innocent smile and squeezed, her fingers pressing into firm muscle. Jack shook his head and smirked at her—the sight, as always, made her panties damp—before continuing up the stairs.

Phryne shivered delightfully as she pictured him, _en déshabillé_ , on the chaise in her parlor. She bit her lip thinking of how he looked with his shirt and vest open and the rapid beating of his pulse visible in the hollow of his throat. She remembered the warmth of him where her hand had rested over his heart and the long hard length of him beneath her palm.

Examining him now from two steps behind, she was eager to experience him in all his glory. She wanted to touch and kiss every inch of him and, not incidentally, be touched and kissed in return. She had no idea how much sexual experience Jack had with women—she knew that he was a passionate man underneath his stoic exterior, but she also knew that he was not the kind of man to have quick dalliances. So chances were that he had less experience than she did, but even if she needed to help him practice the things that pleased her, she’d be willing to bet that he would be an apt pupil.

Jack paused again when he reached the top of the stairs, letting Phryne step in front to lead the way to her boudoir. She realized that he’d been in her room before, more than once, but never for prurient purposes until now. Phryne smiled softly at his hesitancy. She turned to kiss him there at the top of the stairs, softly, before backing through the doorway to her bedroom, pulling him behind her. His eyes as he surveyed her were hot, and his slightly open mouth bore the smudges of her lipstick. She ran her eyes down his body, still partially revealed by his unbuttoned clothing, her tongue peeking out to touch her upper lip as she admired his flat belly and the promising bulge of his trouser placket.

Phryne stood by the doorway as Jack followed her into the bedroom, changing positions around their joined hands in a slow waltz. Closing the door, Phryne turned to face Jack, finding him much closer than she’d expected. He crowded her back against the door to kiss her again, his tongue pressing into her mouth in a preview of what they’d be doing with their bodies as soon as they were able. She closed her eyes and arched against him, pressing her breasts against his chest and bringing her pelvis into contact with his. The feeling of his erection pressed against her pubis and belly was exquisite, and Phryne found herself sliding her arm around him to cup his ass again and pull him closer, her opposite knee riding up against his hip to allow him to push against the sensitive flesh between her legs.

Jack’s free hand found itself again under the edge of her jumper, sliding up her ribcage to cup her breast through the silk of her brassiere. The inarticulate sound that Jack made when his palm found her hardened nipple was almost a growl, and it resonated through Phryne, starting at her mouth and rippling down her body.

Suddenly, Phryne could not wait any longer. She dropped her knee and moved her hand up to press against Jack’s chest to disengage their mouths.

“Clothes off. Now,” she panted, even as she covered his still-kneading hand on her breast with her own, her eyes on his reddened lips. His fingers sliding between hers where they had been intertwined felt almost as if he was pulling out of her after climax. Phryne shuddered at the sensation before grasping the hem of her jumper. In one swift move, she pulled it and her camisole over her head. Jack’s eyes dropped to his hand, still on her silk-covered breast, and he groaned again before he dropped his head to put his mouth over her other breast through the cloth. Phryne drew in a shaky breath and grasped his head, holding him to her as he laved her nipple with his tongue, the silk dampening and sliding against her with a sweet friction.

His name fell from her lips in more than one syllable, drawn out by the pleasure he was giving her. When she could force her fingers to release him, Phryne reached back with both hands, arching her back against Jack’s mouth to release the hooks at her back and shrug the brassiere off her shoulders entirely. Jack had switched breasts, the fingers of one hand curling under the top edge of the silk while his mouth dampened the cloth over her opposite nipple, and when the tension of the garment relaxed, he slid it down her body and away.

“Phryne,” Jack’s whisper against her bare skin was reverent, and it was followed by the wet heat of his mouth. Phryne’s hands came to rest on his shoulders, her head falling back as she savored the sensation of Jack’s tongue rasping gently against the sensitive skin around her nipple before he latched on and suckled strongly. The sound she made could be called a wail as the sensation of suction shot through her, a tiny orgasm flowing through her.

On a gasp, Phryne opened her eyes, her body vibrating from release. She grasped at Jack’s jacket and vest, pushing them backward off of his shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. Sliding her hands inside his open shirt, she hooked his braces to push them down his arms and allow the shirt to fall away. All that was left to obscure his upper body was a thin singlet, and she tucked her hands around his waist to gather it between her palms and pull it over his head. Jack cooperated, straightening and raising his arms to release the garment before dropping his hands back to Phryne’s hips and his mouth to hers.

Phryne’s kiss was frantic, and she looped her arms around Jack’s neck to press her bare chest to his, both of them moaning at the pleasure of the contact. Jack’s arms came around her, one of his big hands cupping her bottom, the other spreading to press between her shoulder blades. He lifted her slightly, and she raised her knees to hook her legs around his waist, her mind fully occupied by the whiskey and vanilla flavor of his mouth. With a grunt, Jack spun around and took the two steps to her bed. He toed off his shoes and socks before lifting a knee to the mattress and laying Phryne down, his mouth leaving hers to trail down the side of her neck. She arched her neck and lifted her hips against his, whispering his name.

Jack lifted up slightly, pushing back to balance on the foot he still had on the floor, his hands skimming her chest as they trailed down to her waist, his eyes examining her body. Phryne writhed, practically able to feel his gaze stroking gently against her flesh.

“How do these things unfasten?” Jack grasped at the waistband of her trousers, sliding around the inner edge to find the hooks that marched down one hip. His nimble fingers made short work of the fastenings, and he pushed his hands down over her bottom, under her knickers, to slide her clothing down and off, leaving her lying nude atop the furry throw that was draped across her duvet. Phryne propped herself up on her elbows and bent her knees, canting her hips so that Jack would be able to see the most intimate part of her. She was wet, she knew, and her nether lips would be shiny with the secretions of her body. She licked her lips, watching Jack watch her.

“Take yours off too, Jack,” she said, her voice throaty. He seemed to start slightly, as if recalled from a daydream, and his gaze shot up to meet hers. With that sideways look and tilt of his head, he dropped his hands to his own fastenings. She watched, her tongue sliding out to wet her lips, as he unbuttoned himself and bent to push his trousers and smalls down his hips. When he straightened, hands at his sides, Phryne let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He was beautiful, his chest muscles subtly defined against smooth skin, the V of muscle at his hips pulling her gaze down to an erection that made her mouth water.

Pushing herself up to a seated position, Phryne reached out to stroke him, hands starting at his chest, lightly tracing his pectoral muscles before scraping her nails over his nipples. When he drew in a sharp breath at the sensation, she did it again before trailing her fingers down the line of hair that ran from his belly button down to his groin, where it spread over the base of his shaft and balls. She watched her hands as they slid down his body, one curling around his cock and the other passing it to cup and massage his balls. He moaned when she pulled her hand up his cock, pressing her fingertips to the line that ran up the underside and palming the head before sliding back down to the base. After two or three repeats of this caress, though, Jack grasped her wrists to stop her.

“I want to be in you the first time,” he said, his voice lower even than usual.

“All right,” she said, and leaned to kiss him. “But there is so much more I want to do with this.” Swallowing hard, he nodded.

“And I will absolutely let you. But not now.” With a final stroke, she pushed herself backward on the bed, turning to pull open a small drawer in the spindly-legged table beside the pillow on the opposite side. Jack climbed onto the bed behind her, his hands warm on her skin. When Phryne turned back to lie supine, he pushed her legs apart to make room for himself as he lay between them, burying his face between her thighs.

Phryne’s hand clenched on her diaphragm case, retrieved from the drawer, as she felt first his breath and then his tongue on her swollen, aroused flesh. Allowing her legs to fall open, she reveled in the feel of his mouth, his tongue pressing into her body before withdrawing to trace circles around her clitoris. Her hands reached, almost of their own accord, to clench in his hair as the tension within her body grew. Phryne was so focused on Jack’s mouth that it was a shock to feel him press two fingers inside her body and curl them slightly to drag against the front of her passage with each withdrawal before thrusting back in. He lifted his head to watch her, arching and writhing against the bed, and he replaced his mouth with the palm of his hand, gently massaging her clit while his fingers pressed the space above her mound. The dual stimulation triggered something in Phryne, and with a cry, she shattered, fluid gushing out to coat Jack’s hands.

Muscles limp, Phryne lay still, her breath heaving, as Jack crawled up to lie beside her. He stroked one hand up her belly to cup her breast, leaning in to cover her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply, his tongue slipping into her mouth, before moving to cover her breast with his lips. When Phryne could move again, she reached up to cup his face, only then realizing that she still held the clamshell case. She laughed a little, and Jack raised his head. The lipstick that had been around his mouth was gone, but his lips were red and there was a flush on his cheeks. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and when he glanced at the little case, a line formed between his eyebrows.

“Family planning, Jack,” Phryne’s breathless voice made his face brighten with understanding, and he reached to take the case from her. Flipping it open, he tipped the diaphragm into his palm and tossed the case toward her dressing table, where it clattered lightly against her perfume bottles. Pinching the edges of the device between his fingers, he reached down to insert it.

Jack’s fingers pressing her device into her body felt very different from her own, and Phryne’s still-sensitive tissues chorused a hallelujah at the thick digits’ invasion. Drawing a gasping breath and clutching at his arm as he stroked inside to ensure the placement of the device, Phryne forced herself to ask the question on her mind.

“How do you even… oh yes… know how to dooo—” the sound rose as he added a twist to his fingers’ withdrawal, “that?” Jack grinned, a little sheepishly.

“After, erm, tennis,” he definitely did not want to bring Phryne’s phobia into the room with them just now, “when your old device was in evidence, I asked Mac to explain how it worked.” Jack brought his wet fingers up to Phryne’s mouth, and she sucked them in, licking them clean and raising ideas of how her tongue would feel on other parts of his body. With a groan, Jack leaned to kiss her, reaching down to position himself at the entrance to her body.

“Yes?” He said against her mouth.

“Oh god yes please, Jaaa-aack!” At the first sound of that yes, Jack pushed, his body sliding snugly into hers. Every man felt different, Phryne thought in that moment, but none felt as right as Jack. He filled her perfectly, slowly advancing until he was fully embedded, the hair at the base of his shaft tangling with hers. Phryne lifted her knees to his hips and rolled, pushing him to his back and straddling his waist. Lying prone against his chest, she kissed him, her tongue licking at his mouth. She arched her back to pull herself up his cock, then pushed back against him to embed him once more. His hands stroked down to her hips, urging her to move faster.

Phryne pushed herself upright, her palms against his chest, and began to move, rising and falling on her knees. Now it was Jack’s turn to arch and moan, his hands covering her breasts, his hips working to find a rhythm with Phryne’s. His neck arched as their motions harmonized, and he moaned out her name.

“Phryy-neee, god, yes,” his deep voice was guttural in his pleasure, and he tilted his head to look down his body to where his flesh disappeared into Phryne’s body. Clenching his stomach muscles, Jack pushed up against the mattress, sitting up and sliding one hand around to Phryne’s ass. She clasped a hand on his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers. Leaning forward, Jack rolled with her one more time, setting his knees between her updrawn thighs and beginning an urgent rhythm of thrust and release.

Phryne could feel the tension building inside her body again, and she pressed her hand down between their bodies to rub her pleasure point, knowing that her orgasm would trigger Jack’s. When the tension in her body broke, she cried out, and she felt Jack follow, his hips stuttering into hers as he threw his head back to shout her name.

After a few moments of muscle-locked tension, Jack sagged, wrapping Phryne in his arms and rolling them back over so that she could drape her sated body over his. They lay there, panting, until the sweat on their bodies began to dry and their skin started to feel the chill in the air. Reluctantly disengaging, Phryne kissed Jack and rolled off the bed to stand on wobbly legs. Laughing a little at her own infirmity, she reached to touch Jack’s hand. He studied her out of heavy-lidded eyes, his lips quirking in his quiet smile.

“Be right back,” she said, and made her unsteady way to the connecting bathroom, where she removed her diaphragm and rinsed it. Heading back into the bedroom, she rounded the bed and, not finding the clamshell case, shrugged and placed the device carefully on the corner of the vanity. Turning, she saw that Jack had tucked himself under the covers. Although he was still smiling at her, his eyes now held a hint of shyness.

“Should I go?” He asked. She shook her head.

“Stay as long as you like,” she replied, sliding into bed and snuggling up next to him. He wrapped an arm around her and nestled against the pillows.

“You may never get rid of me,” was his rumbled rejoinder. She turned to press a kiss against his chest before laying her head against his shoulder and pulling one knee up and over his thigh, claiming him with her body.

“I think I could cope with that,” she said.


End file.
